


In Flagrante Delicto

by thefullbeaumonty



Category: The Royal Romance (Visual Novel)
Genre: Car Sex, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 08:00:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17018820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefullbeaumonty/pseuds/thefullbeaumonty
Summary: Written to fulfill the prompt “You’re n-not, um, w-wearing anything under that, are you…?“ which is in bold in the text.





	In Flagrante Delicto

**Author's Note:**

> Written to fulfill the prompt “You’re n-not, um, w-wearing anything under that, are you…?“ which is in bold in the text.

They dash down the driveway, careful to avoid the patches of ice visible only by reflected moonlight the farther they get from the estate. He can hear her high heels on the concrete and her laugh on the cold night air as she pulls him by the hand toward the line of parked cars. There isn’t much he’s willing to leave a party for, but his wife is absolutely at the top of that very short list.

He yanks the door to the limo open, hand at her back as she ducks inside ahead of him. He’s barely fallen against the seat before she’s in his lap and her lips have found his as the interior lights dim to darkness again. Her breath is visible in the chill of the car, hot and quick against his cheek. They’re both still winded from the run, but neither has any intention of slowing down to breathe. He’s half-buzzed but still present, thank heavens, mind reeling a little as her tongue dances with his, vodka and cranberry mingling with peach and orange juice - a perfect combination. He groans into the kiss as his hands bunch up the billowy fabric of her dress in a desperate attempt to find the warmth of her skin. 

Finally finding the hem, his palm slides slowly from knee to thigh and upward to her hips. There’s a strangled sound from the back of his throat, involuntary and a little embarrassing, when he realizes there is no fabric beneath his fingers. Her smile blooms against his lips just before his mouth falls open in surprise, and he can just see the mischievous glint in her eyes in the filtered moonlight from the tinted window behind him.

 **“You’re n-not, um, w-wearing anything under that, are you…?“** he stammers, wide-eyed.

She gives him an exaggerated wink, and he can’t help but laugh. She’s definitely tipsy, too.

"I thought you might figure it out earlier, Duke Grabby Hands.” She starts to unbutton his shirt, just enough so she can reach inside and trail her fingers across his chest to his shoulder and back in a slow figure eight. “Though I suppose now is good, too.”

He grins at her, but his voice is low, his eyes dark. "Now is…very good.“

Just before their lips meet again, she shifts to straddle him, lifting her dress out of the way and pressing herself bare against him. She rocks her hips toward his, once, twice, again. Her heat is tangible through the two layers he suddenly wishes weren’t separating them, and his erection strains against the confines of his pants. 

The air around them changes as their kisses become hungry, desperate, warm breath fogging the tinted windows. She reaches between them to undo another two buttons on his shirt so her hands can roam his chest and around his back; he pulls her tight to him, palms cupping her ass, one hand firm against bare skin, the other outside the silken fabric of her dress. The whimper he hears in the darkness could have come from either of them; he has no clue because he’s lost in her, like always, in the feel of her soft skin at his fingertips, the smell of her hair, the fact that she’s his forever.

He’s brought back to the moment when her hands move to his belt, unbuckling it quickly and unzipping his fly to reach in and palm his erection. She stands up just long enough to help him shimmy his pants and boxers down to his knees before settling on his lap again. "Eager, are we?” he asks with a laugh, though his breath hitches when she strokes him, her thumb swirling slowly around the tip and making his head fall back against the seat.

She presses her chest to his as her lips brush hot against his jawline. "I’ve thought about this all night.“ Her words are a warm whisper in his ear. "Dancing with you is like public foreplay.”

“ _Lydia_ …”

He doesn’t need to say anything more. One hand leaves his shoulder to position him at her entrance, and she sinks down onto him, taking him in all at once with a gasp that’s amplified by the quiet darkness.

Her warm hands return to his shoulders beneath his shirt, gripping tightly now as he willingly lets her set the pace. She starts slowly, sensually, rolling her hips toward his, beginning to climb together. But soon she speeds her motion to a bounce, the delicious friction making his head spin. When her head drops back, the expanse of her neck, just-visible in the palest light, is an open invitation. He kisses beneath her jaw, trailing down her neck, her breathy moans urging him lower, lower, until he reluctantly disentangles his hand from under her dress to push the strap off one shoulder, releasing her breast. His mouth closes over her nipple, already peaked by chill and desire, and her hips buck against his suddenly. 

The “oh!” from the back of her throat sends a jolt down his spine, settling deep within him and fanning the flames of a growing fire. His hand finds purchase at her bare waist again, holding tighter now, but this time he waits half a beat before moving his hips away from hers, pulling out just far enough to plunge harder, deeper into her heat as their bodies come together again and again.

“Oh my god… _oh_ … _Max_ …” 

He knows that tone intimately, knows exactly what it means and what she needs when she says his name like that. His fingers trail between them and his thumb finds her clit, circling her sensitive skin. She’s so close, and he wants nothing more than to take her there. " _Come for me, Lyd._ “ His thumb presses harder; his tongue finds her breast again, swirling around her nipple and sucking lightly.

He stills the motion of his hips as she climaxes, holding her tight to him as she rides her pleasure as long as she can, grinding hard against his hand between them. His eyes slip shut to total darkness as her walls pulse around him over and over and she moans his name into his neck. He doesn’t need to see her in this moment, right here, because he already knows it all by heart. He can envision her falling apart beneath him, above him, around him, in the half-light of their bedroom in Valtoria, under the deep velvet canopy of their bed, on the balcony below a blanket of stars.

She moves again, rolling her body toward his, and it only takes a few more strokes before he falls over the edge with her to his own release. The blaze inside him flares white-hot, traveling upward, outward, tendrils of flame licking every nerve ending from within.

Eyes closed, she leans forward to catch her breath and presses her forehead to his. He kisses her again, sweetly this time, and whispers, "You know, we should-”

Suddenly, there’s a noise outside the car. Her eyes snap open, meeting his in alarm. There’s no time to think, much less move apart. Still connected, hearts pounding, they both turn their heads in the near-darkness toward the sound. "Lydia!“ he hisses, covering her exposed breast with his free hand as she attempts, most likely in vain since his hand still grips her hip beneath her dress, to cover their bodies with the draped layers of fabric.

The door opens, and the interior lights turn on; their wide eyes squint in the sudden harsh glare. Bertrand is halfway in the limo before he realizes it is not, in fact, empty. He lets out a sound of pure exasperation when his gaze meets his brother’s. The latter has the good sense to at least look sheepish, though he can’t stop the smile that crosses his face as he shrugs his shoulders. 

"Good god, you two,” Bertrand snaps, as he retreats as quickly as possible from the limo. “This is a _rental_!”

The moment the door slams shut behind him, they look at each other and burst out laughing, any hint of passion and romance gone. She climbs off his lap and flops back onto the seat, one arm slung over her eyes as she shakes with laughter, the other hand smoothing her dress back over her legs before settling on his thigh. “Doesn’t he know? If the…” she starts, before dissolving into giggles again at the absurdity of the moment. “If the limo’s a-rockin’…”

He’s wheezing now, barely able to zip his pants back up because he has to stop to wipe the tears from his eyes. "Ah,“ he sighs, as they finally begin to compose themselves, one last chuckle at the end of the exhale, "Classic.”

Neither makes eye contact with the elder Beaumont as they scurry away from the limo and back up the drive, the late-winter night air even colder now against their sweaty skin.

“There’s no way we’re sharing a ride back with him tonight, Maxwell.” Her tone is matter-of-fact, but she’s ready to start laughing again any moment.

He’s already dialing his phone, still smiling. "I’m on it.“

**Author's Note:**

> The phrase in flagrante delicto means “caught in the act” and is used colloquially to describe being caught having sex. In Latin, it literally means “while the offense is blazing,” which is a great phrase, and I find it especially interesting since I named the story after it was written. I do hope this little fic made you laugh!


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